Reticeo
by Split-Psychosis
Summary: Moments like this are precious, where it’s their bodies that are doing the talking, not their lips. When there’s no room for primitive things such as words to mar the perfection they seem to reach. Mello/Near


**Pairing: **Mello/Near

**Warnings:** Implied Sex.

**Notes:** Dear God I haven't posted here in years but here's an old fic written over a year ago. Was written listening to the _Final Fantasy_ cover (no not as in the games) of the _Stars_ song _Your Ex-Lover Is Dead_. Check it out, it's a gorgeous song. I like the remix way better than the original, but then again I have a thing for violins and pianos. _Anyway_ enjoy. Or something.

**RETICEO**

There was nothing to say. Words that fell off the tongue like echoing silver bells simply weren't pleasing anymore. They were awkward, misleading. Even that ever familiar voice, gruff and low, that sounded as if his tongue was coated with sandpaper – he wished to hear no more. Silence was the only thing he wished to hear, its sweet hollow emptiness filling his ears.

Written word, spoken word – all of it seemed to be inadequate, primitive, and always fell short when it came to describing and communicating with one another. It caused misunderstandings, problems; fueled hatred, spite and jealousy. There was no such thing as mutual understanding when either of them opened their mouths; it only seemed to come in moments of silence - moments such as these.

Moments he treasured above everything else.

The silence was shaken as Mello moved beside him, ruffling the dull white sheets they were laying on. Once closed eyes seemed to open, blue glazed over slits fixing on him. It was impossible to keep his gaze on him anymore, breaking it free, gluing it to the ceiling instead.

"You were watching me, weren't you?"

The already threatened silence was now broken, the low mumbling of words tainting its pristine existence.

He won't answer with words; they've only seemed to fail him time and time again. Instead it's a nod that answers the question. Stillness seems to fall upon them once more, and for a brief moment it's peaceful. But peace isn't meant to last, and thoughts are made to escape one's mind.

It's as if a chain reaction had been set off, the spark a soft kiss to surprisingly warm lips, until it caught them both, setting them alight, cold fingertips becoming heated from friction coated touches. Onyx painted nails found their way down his chest, leaving streaks of light red marring porcelain skin. Chocolate stained his taste buds as fingers explored lower, dancing over his body, driving him crazy, inky eyes shutting with a soft gasp.

There are no words exchanged, of course. They're inappropriate, and would stain the moment. But there are sounds, soft heated moans, quiet whimpers and pants. Teeth seem to clamp onto his neck, the gesture one dripping with lust and need, causing him to break the silence himself.

"…Mello-"

He's almost stunned it slipped him, but it's forgivable. Mello is not a word, nor is it a name. It's here, it's now, it's being overwhelmed by feeling and emotion, to have your mind so stimulated it hurts to think.

But he doesn't want to think, which is, in a way, frightening.

For he knows that once he can think again, it'll be over.

And once it's over, they'll both be thrown back into the realm of misconceptions and misunderstandings.

Moments like this are precious, where it's their bodies that are doing the talking, not their lips. When there's no room for primitive things such as words to mar the perfection they seem to reach.

Which is ironic, considering their actions are as primitive as one can get.

Yet everything has to end, nothing can last forever. It's a fact that seems to scream and claw its way to the surface of his hazed mind, body exhausted and spent. Mello seems to be no better off. He wants to tell him, warn him not to break the silence they worked so hard toward to achieve, groaning in pleasurable agony to reach it. But he can't.

He doesn't know how.

A hand reached toward his face, brushing silver strands out of tired, shadowed eyes, their gazes meeting briefly. It's hard to tell if it's just a trick of the mind but he catches the corners of Mello's lips twisting upward softly. It's not a feral smile, or wracked with anger. It's calm. Normal if that's even possible.

And then, his eyes are guided softly closed, fingertips brushing over his eyelids in a message, a command he's only too happy to abide by.

_Go to sleep._

_Understood._


End file.
